


things you said through gritted teeth [ꜰʀᴜᴋ]

by kinkypoets



Series: [ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ] challenge [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Historical Hetalia, M/M, takes place during congress of vienna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 23:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15593403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkypoets/pseuds/kinkypoets
Summary: Between one fuck and another, Arthur is conflicted about sudden change of Francis' character.__requested by anonymous @ curiouscat: "number 2 with FrUK pwease"





	things you said through gritted teeth [ꜰʀᴜᴋ]

**Author's Note:**

> [ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ ] ✧ please read!
> 
> i decided to take part in this small challenge and asked my twitter followers for pairings requests, mostly for me to practice. [link: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Dey14esXUAAo1Yz.jpg]
> 
> therefore i established i won't be saying "no" to the requests and writing one shots about ships i don't usually ship in romantic way or don't have any strong opions about them. it was just about me practising different situations and different characters. i also let myself interpret the prompts in slightly different way, i guess.
> 
> so, no ship hate. i understand some of them might be weird? or even CoNtrOvErsIAL, but i assure you, you really don't have to be pressed so much about it. (i'm obviously talking about the historical ships.)
> 
> the works will be posted in english and in polish.

Fighting with Francis was one thing but ending up in the same bed afterwards was another.

There was something _nice_ about it, Arthur thought. Cleansing. Especially after the last time, when they literally fucked during the beginning of a new century. Their little tradition, one would say. The familiar weight of the tall French on top of him; the bitings and his snicker when Arthur moans unexpectedly and even more unexpectedly blushes like a bloody virgin. The scars on each other’s bodies, this time in Vienna Arthur finally saw his newest ones.

Francis’ neck scar darkened and closed but the pink shade of sensitive skin still pointed out and it looked actually impressive, but that petty harlot would only go on about how he wishes big collars were still in fashion, so that he would cover it. If Arthur’s head was decapitated and then stitched back to its place, he’d be proudly exposing it as a symbol of what had been, but _thank God_ , his people aren’t too keen on this revolution thing.

Arthur stretched out his legs by putting them on a desk countertop. He took a sip of his whisky and pulled his drooling bulldog onto his lap. He fiddled with letter opener, but the message from viscount Castlereagh remained unopened. The Four Great Powers meeting didn’t start up until late evening, so Arthur couldn’t be bothered. If anyone would ask him, what he considers “The Four Great Powers” on this godforsaken Congress, he’d probably reply with “whisky, wine, beer, and the sight of a broken Bonnefoy”. 

The sudden urge for a cigar struck Arthur but he didn’t have a heart to push Guinevere back to the floor. Instead he poured more whisky and scratched her ears. Francis was still sleeping in a bedroom in front of Arthur’s cabinet apartment; naked in the silk bed sheets. Since yesterday meetings, where The Four discussed Belgium and Netherland’s case, Arthur dissociated for a while. He was back in a while, but Francis gave him a concerned look and later in bed asked what happened with him back there. Arthur didn’t respond, because he understood he was _repulsed_. He was repulsed with all this congress, those people, Metternich’s odd schemes and Francis Bonnefoy himself, in some way. And his disgusting neck wound. 

“He’s prancing around in those frilly clothes as if nothing happened!” he said, scratching dog’s wrinkled head. “As if they didn’t create chaos in entire bloody continent!” 

“Now no one gives a shite about it,” Arthur sipped from his whisky “shouldn’t we punish him? For God’s sake, they both established new states, this isn’t normal.” 

Francis leaned on a threshold, wrapped up in the green silk sheet. He yawned obnoxiously.

“You’re just jealous I have other children and they’re not yours.” Arthur scoffed and told him to stop being ridiculous so Francis giggled in response. 

“Eh, _lapin_ , don’t you—”

“Please, refrain from calling me that.”

Francis’ eyes widened, wrapping his curl around his finger.

“What happened, you always liked that.”

The drops of whisky gushed on the countertop when Arthur put the glass down soundly.

“Oh, so the Continental System happened. Trafalgar happened. The 1812 happened, whatever the hell it was. Should I go on?” He poured himself more whisky. The droplets stained viscount’s letter. 

Francis crossed his arms and let out a sigh. “We’ve been through this—”

“No, actually, you see, dear friend,” Arthur straightened and letter opener slashed through the paper. Guinevere who was pushed to the floor before jumped on her usual pillow. “we really haven’t. We just had an intercourse since you arrived—” 

Francis scowled “ _Répugnant_ , don’t call it like that!”

“— and got really drunk one night. I don’t recall our conversation about you wanting to rule whole continent, creating new states out of the blue and then buttering everyone up here as if nothing took place!” He lifted his chin up. “Missed monarchy much, _un coq_?” 

Francis took in a sharp breath and retrieved back to the bedroom, wrapping his shoulders up with green bedsheet. 

Arthur eyed out viscount’s message. He was warned about foreign minister Metternich’s spies on this evening’s ball. “Please, do refrain from talking about our international plans with anyone, especially Mr Bonnefoy” Castlereagh begged. _Worry not, Robert,_ Arthur thought, _we’re just fucking._

Francis came back fully clothed. He leaned against the desk, feeling Arthur’s cigarette breath on his freshly perfumed face. 

“I’m not going to apologize” he said, through gritted teeth “I never do. And neither do you” 

Arthur’s eyebrow twitched. 

“I’m moving on” he pulled back and shifted his gaze from the Englishman. “I need to do something in order to survive, which is desperate, given the fact that I had my head cut off.” He said, fixing his cuff and brushing off something of his suit jacket. “I surprised Europe one time, I can do it again. You, especially.” 

“What you’re trying to say is: you’re causing chaos to impress me?” Arthur said, clearly amused. Francis chuckled. 

“You’re so scared of chaos, dear friend. Why?” he lowered his voice, but then he looked away at the massive, oval clock standing next to the apartment's door. “Sometimes you have to let chaos consume you” he whispered dramatically and rushed towards the door. 

“It reminds me of you.” Arthur sighed into his glass of whisky after Francis’ exit.

**Author's Note:**

> fyi the bits in french are supposed to sound ironic i'm not really showing off that i can use google translate or anything skjdns


End file.
